Symbiosis
by nadagio
Summary: Hermione needs a friend to tell her she's doing the Right Thing. Severus just needs a friend. Eventually they'll both find what they need and more with each other. SS/HG. EWE. Takes place after Liaison.
1. Chapter 1

**Note:** **This is a sequel to my one-shot, _Liaison_. Reading that first would be helpful.**

* * *

**Symbiosis**

**Chapter 1**

* * *

The fireplace in a small London flat, previously empty, ignites with green flame. A disembodied head appears within it, the head's fiery-red hair contrasting nicely with the emerald of its surroundings.

"Hermione? Are you there?" the head calls with a woman's voice. "Hermione?"

The head disappears, but is soon replaced—after another green flash of fire—by an attractive young witch instead, stumbling from the fireplace. An old ginger cat meows grumpily from his place on the hearth. The witch brushes habitually at her robes, but they are not dirty.

"I do like how clean she keeps her Floo," Ginny mutters absently to herself, before continuing her search for her friend.

"Hermione?" she walks the short distance to the small bedroom and peers inside. Sure enough, Hermione is in bed. Ginny can spot the tell-tale remnants of a good cry as she approaches.

"Oh, you poor girl," she says softly and sits down beside the sleeping young woman.

"Hermione, wake up." Ginny gently shakes her friend's shoulder. Hermione turns over and opens her eyes blearily.

"Ginny?" she rasps after a few moments, then clears her throat. "What are you doing here?"

"We were going to have lunch, remember? I was worried when I didn't find you in your office... Thank you for not blocking your fireplace, by the way. That's always unpleasant."

"I called in sick. Sorry I didn't owl you," Hermione says grumpily and closes her eyes.

"I know. And I understand, I do. But is it really worth hiding and crying over?"

"What?" Hermione's eyes snap back open and look at Ginny with surprise. How does she know?

"I mean, I know it's embarrassing, but everyone who knows _you_ knows it couldn't possibly be true."

"What!" Now she's confused. What is Ginny talking about?

Seeing Hermione's confusion, Ginny becomes confused herself.

"You did see the _Daily Prophe_t, didn't you? Isn't that why you're upset?"

"The _Prophet_?" she whimpers. The _Daily Prophet_ never brings Hermione good news.

"Oh Merlin, I'm sorry. I thought you saw it. Here." With a flick of her wand, Ginny summons the _Daily Prophet_ and flips to the _Wizarding Life_ section before handing it to Hermione, cautiously watching her friend's expression.

There in moving color was a blurry, amateurish photograph of Hermione and Snape, blown up to an outrageous size. (Wow, she thinks self-consciously, her hair looks a mess.) Captured: she touches his arm with a brilliant smile, looped over and over and over again. Conveniently, the angle doesn't allow the viewer to see Snape's murderous glare.

Clearly someone who was in the Leaky Cauldron yesterday fancies themselves a photographer.

Above the photo, a bold headline reads: 'Hogwarts Heart-Breaker Strikes Again'. A smaller photo of Ron Weasley looking angry and a number of ridiculous accusations disguised as harmless questions accompany the short article.

Written by Rita Skeeter, of course. She's registered as an Animagus now, and bringing up that she once wasn't would only bring out Hermione's role as a blackmailer. Mutual destruction isn't her thing, though.

After reading the rubbish through, Hermione is torn between anger, disbelief, and amusement. She lets out a long laugh that somehow embodies all three—though it might touch on hysterical if Ginny's worried expression is any indication.

"I haven't been with Ron in ages!" she says finally, "And suggesting that I—with Snape! I mean, he's so... old!"

Hermione immediately feels unkind for saying so, but without much thought she knows that's really the foundation of her aversion at the accusation. The things that would turn most people away—his temper, his past, his looks—don't bother her all that much. She could move past them with any other person.

But just nearing twenty, Hermione admits she still doesn't feel quite "adult" yet, used to seeing all of those she looked up to as old and wise as equals. Her responsibilities during the war might have helped her grow up and mature, but it's a very different thing: fighting for your life and demanding the respect of your elders. She's been facing life-threatening danger since she was twelve, after all. The past year at Hogwarts didn't really help, either. Being placed back into a role of obedience and submissive discipline. Saying "yes, sir" and not being out past curfew...

And Snape had been her _Professor!_ That puts him forever in that category with her parents of "old people that don't have sex lives and if they do I don't want to know about them."

She knows about his fancy for Harry's mum, of course (who doesn't, at this point?). But that's abstract. Very different than actually imagining him as a... romantic prospect. She shudders, feeling kind of grossed out.

It's pointless to be upset. She's known for ages that the _Prophet_ is practically just another gossip rag. But still...

"Shouldn't they be writing about something important? Or _true_? How can they print this-"

"I know, Hermione," Ginny soothes. "Everyone knows its ridiculous. The photo is just... circumstantial."

She can tell Ginny wants to ask. Why was she with Snape at the Leaky Cauldron? How is he? What has he been doing? Harry must be especially curious, as Snape never answered any of his owls. She decides to answer the unspoken questions.

"Yes... it is. I ran into him, literally actually, on my way to lunch and then offered to buy _his_ lunch. Nothing scandalous. He seemed a bit out of sorts maybe, but functional. I... didn't really get a chance really, to find out what he's been doing since Azkaban."

And now Hermione feels guilty. She didn't get a chance because she'd been too focused on her own problems, not willing risk his temper to inquire.

"Though I think he said he's having trouble finding a job, actually," she admits.

Ginny frowns in thought. Harry wouldn't like to hear that, after all the effort he's put into changing public opinion about Snape. He actually granted interviews almost solely for that purpose. He stopped, however, when he found his remarks about Snape were almost always edited out of the final publications. And _The Quibbler_'s readership is never very high.

Then abruptly Ginny remembers herself.

"Wait, if you didn't see the article, why are you at home, upset?"

Hermione shrugs and shifts under the covers.

"It's a bit silly, really... It's just... I had to charm a Muggle at work yesterday," she whispers.

"Oh." Ginny frowns with sympathy, but Hermione knows she doesn't _understand_. To Ginny, charming Muggles must seem as common and necessary as de-gnoming a garden. Nothing to feel guilty about, it's just the way of things. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright. I'm fine," Hermione says with a forced smile, "Just taking the day off to mope a bit."

Ginny nods, she can certainly understand _that_.

"I'm glad to hear it. Have you had lunch?"

"Yes, a bit. I'm sorry I forgot we were meeting today," Hermione says. Her forgetting anything is an indication of how truly upset she is, but Ginny doesn't catch it.

"It's all right. My break's almost done now anyway!" the red-head says, unsuccessfully trying to contain a wicked grin of anticipation. Hermione smiles fondly; Ginny just recently signed with the Hollyhead Harpies and so far is enjoying it immensely.

"I hope you feel better." Ginny gives Hermione a large hug. "Enjoy your mope, and don't let the _Prophet_ get you down!" They both laugh.

"Thanks, Ginny. Have a good practice." Hermione watches as Ginny exits the bedroom. That girl is a whirlwind. Then she realizes that she never left her bed throughout their entire conversation, short as it was. She laughs again, before remembering the reason why she's in bed at all and sobering.

Hermione looks at the picture on the _Prophet_ laying on top of the coverlet, watches herself smile brightly over and over again, studies the back of Snape's head.

Maybe she's being ridiculous, but she has a right to her feelings, doesn't she?

Just as Ms. Yates did, before Hermione stole them away.

With a pained groan, she collapses back into her pillows. Her thoughts keep going in circles. Was it necessary and right, or was it completely inexcusable? How is she possibly going to complete her assignment and speak with all those Muggles if she'll be faced with the same unsolvable dilemma again and again? Maybe Snape-

Oh shite. _Snape_.

Hermione scrambles for the _Daily Prophet_ and stares at the picture, at the horrid headline and accusing article. What is he going to think of all this? She knows he values his privacy—his relative seclusion since his release is proof enough of that, and here she's caused his photo to be splashed in the _Prophet_ and inadvertently started a nasty rumor with her attempt at a friendly gesture. Oh, he'll be furious, won't he?

She has to see him and apologize.

Hermione doesn't examine this sudden need to see him very closely, doesn't ask herself why she doesn't simply send an owl, why she thinks he'd even appreciate an apology at all. She just throws herself from bed and scrambles to get presentable, feeling suddenly energized.

She has a wizard to find.

* * *

Hours later, miles and miles away in Northern England, a wizard sips at some rather mediocre tea. He'd never really gotten the hang of making it himself. For so long there'd been House Elves for that. Severus would make more of an effort but at the moment he doesn't care if it tasted like Goblin piss, he just needs something to occupy his hands and mind. There's only so much time he can spend reading books he's already read without becoming restless.

He spent most of the day fruitlessly trying to convince himself to leave his house. But by this time, it's too late in the day anyway. Tomorrow, then. He'd been out yesterday, anyway, he deserved a day of peace. Not that yesterday was at all successful; he'd been distracted...

But London is a stupid place to get a job, anyway. It may be just an Apparition away, but it's far too close to the Wizarding world for his comfort. Severus refuses to acknowledge that may have been the reason he'd been there in the first place.

Severus again curses Albus Dumbledore and his blasted phoenix for all his troubles. Manipulating him into spying, paying him a meager teacher's salary (admittedly not Dumbledore's fault but Severus isn't feeling kind), begging him to _kill_ the bastard. Then his cursed familiar wouldn't even let Severus die properly. No, the bloody bird had to come and "save" him, even as the old poof failed to leave any sort of evidence or testimony that would prevent Severus from being tried and quartered, shunned like a pariah. The feathered rat couldn't even heal his wound completely, at that.

Now here he is: alive, yes, but hated and practically penniless. The ingredients for his potions—his _community service_, aren't free. And some things just can't be conjured or transfigured (he doesn't like to admit that his transfiguration is more than a bit rusty, anyway.)

Bloody bastard.

At least they didn't take his possessions—what little he has—in "reparation" or some such rot. Speaking of...

He looks around himself with consideration, wondering how much the worn furniture might fetch at a pawn shop.

But his mental arithmetic is interrupted by a knock at his door.

Severus freezes and stares at it suspiciously from the sofa. Who in the bloody hell would be knocking at his door? He doesn't like it. His last visitors were Narcissa and her bat-shit crazy sister years ago (he'd turned down the very few requests since then), and everyone knows how well that turned out. Knowing his luck, the consequences of this _visit_ would be infinitely worse.

He waves his wand silently at the wood in order to turn it transparent from his side.

_Granger_.

His feelings are conflicted. Their conversation yesterday was... interesting. Although damn it if he couldn't have a conversation with anyone without making them practically _cry._ It wasn't even intentional, but he just had to take the opportunity to lecture and talk of unpleasant things, didn't he?

The first person to smile kindly and actually inquire into his well being and he completely buggered it up. Not that he needs her kindness!

He can't decide if her abominably bleeding heart is admirable or pathetic.

But really, when most of his social interaction in the past twenty or so years fluctuated between scathing domination (with his students) and groveling submission (with both his masters), is it any wonder he has difficulty finding a happy medium?

And he's rarely had to deal with past students, reconciling his memory of their incompetent younger selves with their incompetent adult selves. He was so isolated at Hogwarts. When he did happen across a former student, he usually treated them as if they were _still_ his student. They had always cowered quite satisfactorily.

Severus has the feeling that this pattern of behavior will no longer suit. For one, he actually respects Granger in his own way, and secondly, he hardly has a leg to stand on as far as superiority is concerned. He may have his knowledge and his pride, but Severus must admit that he's now a jobless ex-convict, idle and poor.

At least I don't drink, cheat, or steal, he thinks fiercely. If I ever start I may as well _Avada_ myself now.

She knocks again, and Severus realizes he ought to either let her in or send her away or she'll probably stand there forever. He resigns himself to her company as he stands; she's nothing if not determined, after all.

Severus cancels the charm and opens the door.

"Miss Granger," he rasps with a scowl, ignoring the urge to cough in some pointless effort to soothe his throat. "How the hell do you know where I live?"

And he is curious. Was it a tracking charm? She couldn't possibly have access to the right sort of files at the Ministry...

"Um—a phone directory, actually," the girl admits sheepishly.

He closes his eyes and contorts his face into a sneer to smother his amusement. Blast. Foiled by his own weakness for take-away curry.

"I suppose now that you're here, you won't leave until I let you in," Severus says, feigning a great reluctance as he opens the door wider and steps aside. He's too interested in _why _she's here to make too much of a show of it.

She smiles gratefully and slips past him into the house. He feel a moment's embarrassment at its wretched state before brutally suppressing it. He didn't invite her, she'll have to take things as they are.

Severus follows Granger into the sitting room, and his lips twitch when she drifts toward the bookshelves.

"I assume you're here for a reason other than to drool over my library," he says scathingly. She spins around with a start.

"Sorry, sir! I mean, yes." She looks nervous, and his curiosity is heightened.

"Well?" He scowls.

"Er, I take it you didn't see it then?" Granger asks.

"Just _what_ am I supposed to have seen?"

She conjures a paper and offers it to him silently. He takes it with dread. Severus doesn't subscribe to the _Daily Prophet_ himself, unwilling to spend a single knut on the rag. He knows the sort of rubbish they publish. The fact that Granger is showing it to him now...

Severus looks at the large photo in the center of the page and sees the sensationalist headline. His body becomes terribly tense as he reads the short "article" beside it. A little further down is a summary of his lurid past. As if anyone could forget.

He forces his face to complete blankness to hide his utter mortification.

Severus is used to fear, hatred, attacks on his character. But to suggest that he—it's reprehensible. Even the ridiculous theories that he'd secretly fathered Potter are less offensive.

"I'm really very sorry," Granger babbles, distraught. "I know you must be angry. She has a bit of a grudge against me, you see, and that photograph... My behavior made it rather easy to suggest..."

He eventually gathers himself enough to scoff.

"The only thing more absurd than this article is your foolish belief that it's somehow your _fault_," Severus sneers. "If it wasn't this, it would be something else equally horrid, with just as little proof."

She sighs, looking somehow relieved and thankful.

"Still. I'm sorry you have to deal with it."

He won't really, being mostly isolated from anyone who would read that tripe, but he doesn't feel the need to point that out when _she_'ll likely be suffering the consequences for a while.

"I've dealt with far worse," he says stiffly. She nods.

They stand for a moment in silence before he realizes-

"_That_'s why you went to the trouble of finding me? To apologize for this idiocy?" He must admit he's somewhat disappointed.

"Um, yes?" She doesn't sound very convinced.

He gives her a piercing stare and raised eyebrow. Granger fidgets.

"Well," she continues. That look never fails. "There's also... I—charmed a Muggle yesterday, because she wasn't being reasonable." Granger whispers it like a guilty secret. Good God, her lower lip actually _trembles_. Is she about to cry? It couldn't possibly be his fault, this time. Though maybe he exudes some sort of aura...

"And?" he barks to cover his discomfort at her emotion. "Am I now some sort of priest at confessional? I believe you're given license to do such, by the Ministry. Why should such an... exploit concern me?"

She looks as if he struck her. Confused and hurt. It only makes him angry. What, was she expecting sympathy? Did she honestly believe he'd coo and coddle her because she had to cast a simple, harmless charm?

"I thought you'd understand," she admitted quietly, looking at the floor now. "Doing something you didn't want to, because it was necessary..."

"You're comparing your little spell with everything I've done?" he hisses. The rasp in his throat doesn't allow more than his consonants to be heard at that volume, but his speech is intelligible enough. "A little cheering charm with a curse to sever flesh? With spells to torture and maim, to remove the very soul from a wizard's body?"

She's shaking her head, but he keeps going.

"I would have thought you'd learned by now, Miss Granger, that some things have to be done and there's no use in feeling _guilty_. I find it difficult to believe that charming a Muggle is possibly the worst you've ever done."

"You're right," she says forcefully, revealing her temper, "It _is_ different. There's no comparison. But that was _war_! It was life or death! And I thought we fought so we could live in a time where such things, even comparatively harmless, weren't necessary. Where I didn't have to manipulate and-and separate people from their _children_ without their consent!"

Granger breathes harshly for a moment, then abruptly turns and tries to compose herself.

"I understand that sometimes it's necessary to do unpleasant things, break a few rules," she continues with more calm, facing his books. "But this isn't just being out after curfew, this is messing with people's lives. And I had a _choice_. And my choice wasn't fair to that woman."

Severus considers her silently. It's clear he'll have to approach things from a different angle.

"And is it fair that the Muggles feel those emotions in the first place? The fear? Are they right to be afraid? Of course not, not usually. So then what can be wrong with leveling the playing field, a bit? So they can make a decision without being crippled by an illogical fear?"

She turns to look at him with consideration, but is still clearly troubled.

"But when are emotions ever right or logical?" she asks, "Who are we to decide that they're _wrong_ and ought to be changed? People have a right to their feelings and decisions, no matter how irrational or misguided. And altering them with a charm is no better than a love potion, or the Imperius.

"Should I charm _you_ whenever you're being stubborn? You'd find yourself _constantly_ in some sort of—drugged-like state. Every emotion and decision would be a lie. Your life wouldn't be your own!"

Severus laughs loudly, bitterly. It's a terribly harsh and grating sound, like he's choking, and Granger shivers.

"Because I don't know what _that'_s like," he says. She has the grace to act a little embarrassed. "Look, Granger. As someone who has been on the receiving end, I can tell you truthfully that I may be angry at what I was forced to do, but even I recognize the necessity. It had to happen. It was for the best. I may be bitter, but I don't regret it. And neither would your Muggle, if she was capable of being rational and detached about it."

Her eyes fill with tears, and dammit, clearly he's just said something wrong, but what was it?

"I—thank you," she chokes out. "That's really all I needed to hear, I think."

Bugger it all, she's sniffling. He conjures a tissue and floats it in her direction.

"Sit down, Miss Granger, lest your emotions overwhelm you and you succumb to the vapors," Severus demands, only somewhat sarcastically. She takes the tissue with a small, grateful smile and obediently finds a seat on the sofa.

He continues to stand for a moment, watching her dab at her eyes, at a loss.

"I'll just... make tea," he mutters eventually, and snatches his empty teacup from the table before walking quickly—not fleeing—into the kitchen.

He vanishes the rubbish already in the pot and then stares at it with frustration. Right. Make tea. That doesn't taste like shite.

Severus applies himself diligently to the task, resolutely ignoring any small amount of guilt he may possibly feel at making Granger cry... again. Damn it.

* * *

**A/N:** Feedback is, of course, much appreciated. I'm posting as I write it, so I'm not sure exactly how long this will be, but probably not more than four or five chapters. This is also unbetaed and likely has errors. Feel free to point them out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Symbiosis**

**Chapter 2**

* * *

When Severus enters the sitting room with a tea tray floating beside him, Granger is again standing by the bookshelves.

"It's an impressive collection," she says with a smile. It seems she cast a few small spells to freshen up while he was in the kitchen. He's relieved.

"I suppose some might say so," Severus says, mentally comparing it to the Malfoys' and finding it lacking. He's read all of them, now, anyway.

Hermione wanders back to the sofa while Severus takes the armchair. With his silent guidance, the pot pours the tea, and a full cup floats to each of them.

They each take a sip in perfect synchrony.

Damn. It still tastes like shite, Severus thinks, but remains utterly stone-faced. Hermione sputters a bit and tries to hide it.

"Perhaps it should steep a little longer," she says diplomatically, adding some sugar and struggling not to laugh.

Yes, it must be terribly funny. A man who could likely brew Wolfsbane in his sleep can't make a decent cuppa.

Severus just scowls.

They courageously press on, though Granger reaches for a biscuit more frequently than he thinks anyone should.

"Sir, If I might ask..." She doesn't give him the chance to protest. "Why won't you answer Harry's owls? It would really mean a lot to him if you did, even if it was just to say 'bugger off'."

Brilliant. Just what he wants to think about.

Honestly, it's... disturbing. Eery. Wrong. Being on the receiving end of that fawning adoration, especially from that face. Especially when he doesn't deserve it. He knows it must be sincere, and yet every simpering grin makes him ill with memories of Pettigrew, Lestrange... _himself_. All of them. Scraping for the Dark Lord's favor. It's best avoided, really. At any cost.

But he doesn't tell her that.

"I think six years of forced interaction is more than enough with that boy," he snarls. "Now that I have a _choice_ in the matter, I may correspond... or not, with whomever I'd like."

"Of course, sir," Granger says hastily.

There's a bit of silence.

"You've been so much help to me, and yet I feel as if I haven't really bothered to even ask... Are you truly doing well, sir? Some of what you said yesterday has left me a bit concerned."

Severus struggles not to snap at her. He _can_ be polite. Sometimes it just feels as if he's forgotten how...

He has no idea how he ever lived through the war with his piss-poor acting skills. Emotions other than anger and vindictive amusement are difficult to feign. Fear was always simple to conjure up, given the circumstances, and groveling before the Dark Lord stemmed easily enough from that. But enthusiasm. Like. _Appreciation_. Those are difficult.

It's just as well he hated everyone on both sides equally, or he'd never have lasted a day as a spy.

"_Thank you_, Miss Granger," he says stiffly into his empty teacup, "but I am perfectly fine."

She returns that look. The one with the raised eyebrow that he used so effectively himself, earlier.

Severus sneers back, but can't help but acknowledge he has an urge to _share_. Some deep, buried part of him really _does_ appreciate her concern, and that same part very much wants to share his own concerns, worries, and fears.

That part of him is grossly outmatched, however, by the greater portion that is accustomed to keeping such things to himself.

"Things are not... ideal, as I'm sure it's easy to deduce. But nothing that won't be dealt with shortly."

And hopefully, if things go as planned, it will. A lack of income is really his greatest problem, at the moment, and once that's solved everything else should fall into place.

...Except the social outcast thing, but when has that ever not been the case?

She looks a bit disappointed, but accepts his non-answer with an "I'm glad things are looking up, then."

"Indeed."

Granger puts her teacup—with a noticeable amount of the beverage remaining—back on the tray and stands.

"I think I've taken up enough of your time," she says with a sheepish smile, clearly about to take her leave. He ignores any very small stab of regret he might feel. "I really do appreciate what you've done for me, sir, just by... talking and not—throwing me out or something."

Severus nods and stands as well.

"You're among a select few," he says, and doesn't elaborate.

He politely escorts her to the door, short distance though it is. Granger hesitates before walking through it.

"Sir, would you mind if... occasionally... I stopped by? Or we had lunch, or something?" she says cautiously.

"I can't imagine why you'd have the slightest inclination to do so." Her face reveals that she can't either.

"I just... What you said yesterday, and today, it really..." The girl's expression contorts comically as she searches for words. "Oh, stuff the reason why. May I, or not?" she huffs. He smirks.

"If you ever feel it necessary, there's probably very little I could do to stop you from... coming over or interrupting my lunch."

It's about as welcoming as Severus will ever get, and it seems she knows it now because she grins widely.

"Brilliant!"

Granger walks to the pavement and gives him a little wave.

"Goodbye, sir!"

"Miss Granger."

She looks both ways before Apparating with a 'pop'.

He shakes his head and shuts the door.

* * *

"Excuse me, sir," Severus manages to choke out, though his face twists sourly at being forced into niceties. "Are you the proprietor of this business?"

An overweight, balding man looks up from his desk in the tucked away corner that serves as an office.

"Wa'?"

"I asked if you were the owner of this establishment," he repeats slowly.

"Yis, I am. Wa' did yous need?" the man asks warily, and Severus cringes to hear his accent. Twenty-eight years, and he's back where he began.

"I saw on your window that you're hiring," he says lightly, "And I've filled out the application that I was given at the front."

Severus offers it to the man, Martin Wright if his nameplate is any indication, who takes it and skims it over quickly.

His CV is less than impressive and Severus knows it. He seriously considers casting a subtle charm to make things easier, but finds himself stayed by a nagging conscience. Must be bloody Granger's influence.

He reminds himself that he doesn't have to be liked to be hired, and the job duties for a _dishwasher_ aren't that stringent anyway. He has a chance.

Unfortunately, he knows enough to know that any sort of decent job would require a sort of background that he doesn't have—being nearly three decades removed from the Muggle world. He has no education past primary school, no knowledge of new technologies, and no references. And certainly no people skills. But he has plenty of experience scrubbing cauldrons.

He justifies leaving his criminal past off of the application by reminding himself that, as far as the Muggle government is concerned, he has done no wrong.

"Yous wuz a teacher?" the Muggle asks sceptically. Severus thought it best to keeps things as close to true as possible, but of course some lying is requisite.

"Yes. Unfortunately budget cuts at the school necessitated my leaving my former position, and my own financial situation requires that I find work immediately," he says.

Mr. Wright nods with sympathetic understanding.

"Or'rite, yer 'ired. Can yous start now?" he asks.

Severus struggles to hide his shock. That was much easier than he'd been expecting.

"Now as in this moment?"

"Yis. Mary tewk off suddenly last week and ever since me cewks 'uv been struggl'n ter cewk _and_ wash. Does now werk fe yous?"

Severus nods slowly.

"Or'rite, follow me and I'll show yous wa' ter do, dun," the Muggle says, and stands with a surprising vigour.

He follows.

* * *

Hermione spends the next week and a half visiting the remainder of the Muggle-born and their families on her list. She is able to make it through by keeping Snape's assurances in mind.

This is necessary. I'm just leveling the playing field by removing an unfair disadvantage. If they were capable of being rational about it, they'd understand and approve.

Charming the parents doesn't become any easier, but at least she isn't wracked with guilt after each occasion.

She feels vindicated for her original reluctance when one of the Muggles, a single father, doesn't need to be charmed in order to agree to send his daughter to Hogwarts. It takes a lot of careful wording and patience, but in the end his curiosity overrides his fear when she finally casts a spell in proof that magic is real. Hermione wonders if perhaps he doesn't have a bit of latent magic himself, but pushes that thought aside in favor of relief that it's at all possible.

Her supervisor will certainly hear of it, and hopefully future Muggle Liaisons will at least be instructed to attempt diplomacy before resorting to charms.

Hermione celebrates her success with a fancy dinner, along with Ginny and the boys. She just has to accompany the families to Diagon Alley to buy school supplies, and then her brief, required stint in the Muggle Liaison Office will be over, and she can move on to begin her new career in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

She decides she really ought to thank Snape, however. Hermione doesn't think she could have gotten through this assignment, sanity intact, without his help.

So one afternoon after work she casts a Disillusionment Charm on herself and Apparates to the pavement in front of his house.

Hermione looks around carefully before releasing the charm, stepping up to the door, and knocking.

Only a few moments later, the door opens, and she's faced with Snape's sneering visage.

"Hello!" she greets him pleasantly.

"Miss Granger, to what do I owe the pleasure?" he drawls.

Hermione waits a moment for him to gesture her inside, but he doesn't.

"I just wanted to thank you again for helping me out the other day with your advice. I brought biscuits," she says, lifting the bag she's holding as proof. "Though do you suppose I could make the tea, this time?"

His eyes flick to the biscuits and then back.

"It will have to wait. I was just leaving," he says with a frown.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't think-"

"Obviously."

"Where to?" she asks nosily.

"To work," he says reluctantly.

"You've got a job? That's excellent! Where at?"

"That is absolutely none of your concern."

Hermione scowls at him in frustration—though she acknowledges that the power of her scowl is much less than his and it's probably not very effective. Ron once even described it as "cute" once.

He is, predictably, unmoved. Then her brain kicks in and notices that he's still wearing Muggle clothes. That must mean...

"You found a _Muggle _job?" she asks with surprise. She'd never heard of a wizard getting a job in the Muggle world, and she supposes she knows why, now. But are things really that desperate?

"Better a job among people that fear and hate me than be jobless among people that, again, fear and hate me," he says bitterly. She admits that it's reasonable, it's just... sad.

"That must be difficult, though," Hermione says quickly. "A Muggle job, I mean. I imagine it would require a very different and unfamiliar skill set."

"It's easier than you might think," he says, looking amused. It then occurs to Hermione to wonder... she gasps.

"You didn't charm anyone into hiring you, did you, sir?" The horribly scathing look he gives her makes her then hastily say, "Of course you didn't. Sorry! Stupid thing to ask."

They stand in the doorway in silence for a few moments.

"I suppose you really won't tell me what your new job is," she says wistfully.

"Definitely not," he says firmly.

"What time would be good to drop by another day, then?" she asks, struggling to conceal her distress.

"I imagine your lunch break would be preferable," he allows. But that's hardly enough time... For what? she asks herself. No, lunch is fine.

Hermione nods and steps back onto the pavement. Snape closes and locks the door, then follows her. They look both ways.

"After you," he says. She can't tell if it's meant to be polite or snide.

"See you tomorrow, then," she says with a small smile, and then Apparates home.

Where suddenly an idea possesses her.

It's brash and completely Gryffindor of her. It's the same craziness that led her to chase after Harry and Ron so many times, punch Malfoy, blackmail Skeeter, etc. But she has to follow through.

Hermione dashes to put away the biscuits, then Disillusions herself and Apparates back to the pavement where Snape is, as she thought, no longer there.

She carefully casts a spell—thank you, Harry!—that traces the path of an Apparition. No, no, that was hers... Aha!

Adding a Silencing Charm for good measure—it doesn't work completely but at least muffles the sound—she spins into nothing...

...and reappears a short distance away, in an alleyway somewhere in Middleton, just outside of Manchester.

She exits carefully into the street and looks around. Hermione can see Snape quickly walking away from her just a couple of blocks down. She scrambles after him.

Very soon, he slows. They're in front of a shabby restaurant that looks like it's seen better days, named 'Martin's Fish House.'

No. Snape can't possibly be working at a _chippy_. Well, not a chippy, but close enough.

A Muggle, clearly an employee given his uniform, stands just outside—futilely trying to light a fag with a bum pack of matches.

"Hey Snape, you got a light?"

"I don't smoke," Snape says shortly. The Muggle looks at him askance. Without having any knowledge of Snape's injury, smoking _would_ be the most reasonable assumption as to the cause for his rasping voice.

"...Anymore," he amends, then makes his way around the back and pushes open a door to enter the restaurant.

Hermione remains outside, Disillusioned, but more than just magically. Apparently it is possible.

God, the man's _brilliant_ and he—she takes a deep breath. Clearly, he's a bit desperate. But it's honest work, and she should be thankful he has it.

But it's very hard to be thankful. Internally, she's raging against the narrow-minded fools that populate the Wizarding world. Snape is largely responsible for them even being _alive_ and not the slaves of a snake-faced despot, and they not only can't _appreciate_ it, they shun him! So much knowledge and talent, going to waste.

Again, she takes a deep breath.

At this point, she should really just walk away. She's gotten what she came for, after all.

But she has to be sure.

Hermione walks to another alley free of Muggles and removes the Disillusionment Charm, then transfigures her robes to an average-looking dress.

Very soon after, she casually strolls through the front entrance of 'Martin's Fish House,' and is greeted with poor temper by the hostess.

"Just one?" the girl asks snidely. Hermione's eyes narrow.

"Actually, I was just hoping to talk to-" she almost chokes on her next words, "my friend, Severus Snape. He works here, doesn't he?"

"Er, yeah," the Muggle says, looking at her with a sort of confused, pitying awe. "Snape should be in now. You can find him in the kitchen."

"Thank you," she says politely and wanders toward the back of the restaurant, ignoring the wide eyes of the hostess on her back.

Hermione quickly finds the kitchen and pushes her way in.

Sure enough, Snape stands in front of a large commercial stove and is wearing an apron. Thankfully, he's alone and his back is to the door, allowing Hermione time to rearrange her world view. After she's sure she can handle herself with some amount of control, she says lightly:

"Do they at least allow you free chips?"

He doesn't startle, or in any way acknowledge that she spoke, just continues to grill some sort of fish. Hermione should have known she couldn't sneak up on a spy. But then after a moment she wonders if he heard her at all.

Just as she's about to speak again, Snape sets down the broiler fork he was using and turns to face her.

His face is completely expressionless, and Hermione honestly finds it a bit scarier than the rage she was expecting.

"I take it you're here to mock me," he says stiffly. "By all means, continue. If you run out of ideas, I'm sure your little friends would be more than happy to assist. We can make a little game of it, 'Pick On Snivellus'. It never gets old, I assure you."

Hermione shakes her head, horrified. Perhaps her first words won't the most sensitive, but she didn't mean to mock!

"No, not at all, sir!" she says. "I just—I was curious, yes, and shouldn't have snooped, but I'd never mock you!"

He looks at her for a long time with a concentrated scowl, looking for any hint that she's lying, most likely. But she faces him solidly with an earnest expression.

Eventually Snape looks away and turns back to his cooking.

"You needn't have been... afraid," she doesn't want to assume, but it's a reasonable motivation, "to tell me that you work here. I'm honestly very pleased that you've gotten a job, but I won't tell anyone else if you don't want me to, sir."

"Stop addressing me as 'sir'," he says harshly toward the stove, "It's ridiculous. I haven't been your Professor for over two years."

"Sorry, si-Sn... er, sorry," she says lamely, a bit confused as to how she _should_ address him, then.

Hermione allows him to continue working in silence for a while, watching curiously as several of his coworkers in succession stand outside the door and peek in through the small window. They always dart away quickly when she catches them looking. It's rather funny.

She leans against a counter.

Slowly, very slowly, Snape begins to relax in her presence, all the while working to prepare meals. Eventually she deems it safe to talk.

"Si-" she begins, then coughs to mask her slip. "Shouldn't there be more people in here? I would have thought, given the size of the restaurant, a larger kitchen staff would be necessary."

"My coworkers in the kitchen quickly found it vital to change their shifts... to whenever I am not working." he says slowly after a time, now preparing a side salad. "It caused a bit of chaos, at first. I was a dishwasher, originally. But I catch on quickly and am quite efficient, it seems, as I manage to do the work of several people myself. My employer is suitably impressed."

His voice has a strange lilting quality that Hermione takes a moment to recognize as humour. She sighs silently with relief that he seems to have forgiven her,

"That's impressive! How-?" and then she notices the little things she'd grown accustomed to ignoring during her time in the Wizarding world. The knife floating in midair chopping onions by itself, for example. Hermione almost has a fit, but tells herself that Snape couldn't possibly be that stupid. "I'm guessing there's some sort of spell on the self-washing dishes and such, so the Muggles don't notice?" Her voice is admittedly a bit strained.

He nods. "It's a sort of hybrid between Muggle-Repelling and Disillusionment Charms."

"And the Ministy doesn't-?"

"The Ministry isn't going to monitor every restaurant in Great Britain, Miss Granger," he snaps while arranging food on a plate with care, "And they won't notice small bits of wandless magic in unmonitored areas any more than they notice Apparation. Which is not at all."

Suddenly Snape is shoving several plates full of food in her direction.

"Give these to the cowards outside. Usually they'd come in themselves, but it seems as if the addition of your presence is just too... overwhelming for their poor little hearts," he sneers. Hermione glares at him—how insensitive, they can't help that they're afraid! But really, what can she expect from Snape?

She obligingly juggles the plates as she heads toward the door...

which opens suddenly, and she's hard-pressed not to drop Snape's hard work all over the floor. Somehow she manages.

A heavy, older man stands in the doorway to the kitchen, looking at her, at Snape, at everything nervously.

"Snape!" he says. Apparently not even Snape's (presumably) employer can muster up the courage to call him by his given name. "I dun pay yous ter stand in e'yer talkin' wi' yer bird!"

Hermione is sure he meant to be forceful but it came out as more of a squeak. Snape stares the Muggle down.

"I don't believe my mouth is necessary for the act of frying fish," Snape says slowly as he continues working. It's a bit eerie watching his hands do things without his eyes watching. "So I see no reason why it shouldn't be otherwise... engaged in the meantime."

There's a bit of tense silence, wherein the Muggle struggles to retain his authority. He quickly gives in.

"Or'rite... as long as yous keep working..." he blusters. Snape nods in agreement.

The man turns his focus to Hermione and the plates in her hand.

"I dun think 'ealth codes allow-" he reluctantly starts, but then becomes trapped by Snape's glare. "Ne'ermind."

The Muggle departs rapidly.

She's left feeling torn between amusement and horror. The humour of the situation eventually wins out, however, and she reluctantly smirks. "You're set, now, I think," she tells Snape, "I don't think he could ever work up the nerve to fire you even if he wanted to."

"My life's ambition assured? I'm overcome with glee," he says caustically.

Hermione laughs brightly and carefully exits the kitchen with the plates in hand, intending to give them to the next employee she sees.

* * *

**A/N:** My apologies for mangling the English language with Martin's accent. It's mostly the fault of an online Scouse Translator.

Reviews are, of course, much appreciated. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Symbiosis**

**Chapter 3**

**

* * *

**

Hermione becomes a regular at 'Martin's Fish House,' but not in the usual sense. She doesn't sit down and order a meal. Instead, she lets herself in the through the back and keeps Snape company while he works. At first, it's every few days after she leaves the Ministry. After a while, it's every day she isn't busy doing something else.

She doesn't analyze too closely her motivation for doing so, telling herself simply that his conversation is interesting—which is more than can be said about most people she encounters.

Snape's coworkers become used to her frequent presence, now freely entering and exiting the kitchen with orders and food when necessary. Apparently by maintaining a constant distance from Snape of at least four feet, she's reassured them that they won't be _interrupting_ anything. She does usually cast a _Muffliato_, however, as their conversation tends to feature magic and the Wizarding world.

The unidentifiable buzzing, the frequent small bits of magic, the pair's silent, imposing presence—Snape usually just nods to communicate with them_—_it all adds up to what must be a terrifying experience for those poor Muggles.

Hermione feels a bit guilty, but they seem to get by, so it must not be too traumatizing.

The pair talk about a surprising number of things as Snape chops, stirs, cooks, washes, etc. She doesn't dare offer her assistance with any of it. More often than not, she sits on an out-of-the-way counter, legs swinging with ankles crossed as they chatter on.

It's usually up to her to initiate any sort of conversation, however.

* * *

"Did you ever hear of my efforts with S.P.E.W.?" she asks one evening.

"How could I have not? The staff room was buzzing for weeks with amusement at your exploits."

She huffs.

"Well it's terrible that they're taken advantage of like that, and I don't understand why no one else sees it. It's really no better than slavery-"

"You are, as I believe I've heard it said: 'preaching to the choir', Miss Granger."

She smiles, glad to have found another House Elf sympathizer.

"I've been thinking of what I can do-" she begins eagerly.

"And there is your flaw." he interrupts, washing his hands after preparing a particularly messy dish. She frowns.

"Pardon?"

"You're plotting what you can do _for_ them, rather than thinking of what they desire and are capable of," he chides. "You can treat them kindly, tell them how wonderful freedom is, and give them all the galleons they could ever spend but won't... and they'll still want to serve, as much as most wizards want them to serve. They'll never be equals in our society until they want it for themselves. And as I'm sure you've deduced... they don't, currently."

"And I don't understand it."

"Nor shall you. Whatever else, I believe House Elves are truly, fundamentally, very different creatures than us, and their.. peculiar desires, by our standards, reflect that. You may attempt to change their minds, but I doubt that you'll ever succeed."

"I disagree," she says firmly.

"You're entitled."

She's feeling a bit glum after his miniature lecture, and it seems he notices.

"Which isn't to say that someone shouldn't take it upon themselves to see that House Elves are treated well," he admits.

She beams.

* * *

Slowly he opens up enough to talk fairly casually about his life with minimum vitriol, even when faced with her likely suffocating curiosity and concern.

"Are you sure they did, uh, everything they could for your throat? At St Mungo's, after the battle?" she asks carefully.

"You're suggesting that Healers purposefully failed to heal me because of they disliked me or held a grudge?"

"Er..." That isn't quite what she meant. Hermione was just wondering if there isn't more that could be done. But when you look at it that way...

"I'm impressed by your distrust, but yes, I'm sure," he says, sounding convinced.

"Oh... alright then." She's disappointed, and not only because of the lost research opportunity.

"There's nothing to be done for my voice," he says slowly, reluctantly toward his busy hands. "But... if you're that terribly concerned; there is an analgesic potion that I frequently make which provides relief for the pain."

That is good to hear.

"I'm glad," she says with a soft smile.

There's a bit of comfortable silence.

"Do you make a lot of potions?" she asks eventually.

"Yes."

"What for?"

"To poison little children, of course." He glances over at her and smirks.

She just rolls her eyes and looks at him pointedly. He huffs.

"For St. Mungo's, experiments, practical use. They're versatile," he defends.

"I'm sure they are," Hermione says, mock comforting. Her assurance that she'd never mock, sincere though it was, didn't last terribly long.

Another pause, during which a waitress comes in and gives Snape an order.

"Where do you get your ingredients?" she asks after the Muggle leaves.

"The apothecary in Diagon Alley, just like any other wizard," he snaps. She must look surprised, because he asks "Did you think that I frequently go gamboling about the world collecting flowers and animal parts?"

"No! It's just..." She's not sure what she thought.

"I'm not a recluse, and I can leave my house and walk through Diagon Alley without idiots throwing rocks or curses. It's only when I go looking for work that they suddenly become impedingly squeamish and fearful. Death Eaters and murderers don't make for good employees, apparently," he says bitterly.

"And I think that's absurd, you did so much..."

He snorts.

"It's not a personal slight, Miss Granger... though Merlin only knows, most have reason enough to dislike me personally. Anyone who's ever been in Azkaban will tell a similar tale."

Her contemplative expression seems to make him nervous.

"Damn it, you've just taken on another cause, haven't you?" he asks.

"So what if I have?"

"I suppose that after you revolutionize relations between wizards and everything else magical, you'll move on the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and reform criminal law?"

"That's the plan," she says cheerfully.

"Your naïve enthusiasm is nauseating," he sneers.

Hermione ignores him in favour of further contemplation, and then pauses to watch as the same waitress comes in, grabs some food, and leaves again.

"You should write a book!" she says after a moment, feeling ecstatic at her own brilliance.

"What?" The poor man looks a bit lost at the non sequitor.

"A book! I mean, your notations in your school text really were brilliant. Why not write your own? Publish your improvements on common potions?"

"And who would publish it?" he asks bitingly.

"Well... I admit they might want you to use a pen name. But they have to at least see the value, right?"

"I think you're far too optimistic," he snarls.

"And I think you're far too pessimistic," she mimics, frustrated.

They don't talk much more that day.

* * *

At times he even expresses concern for her... in his own way.

"Given your unusual silence over the matter, am I to assume that no one has harassed you because of that article?"

"What?" It takes her a moment to remember the article in question. "Oh, not really, actually. It seems not as many people read the _Wizarding Life_ section as I thought, or nobody believed it." she says cheerfully. It really had been a relief, she'd been prepared for the worst. "I just got a few snickers from my coworkers and strange looks from people in Diagon Alley. But then I can't really be sure it was the article... That's mostly what happens all the time."

"Dunderheads," Snape mutters.

Hermione takes that to mean he's pleased she didn't suffer.

* * *

On another occasion, she comes into the kitchen in a foul mood after escorting the first Muggles on their shopping excursion. It hadn't been pleasant.

"Is there a particular reason for your terrible temper this evening, Miss Granger? Or are you regularly afflicted with bouts of irrational frustration?" Snape asks eventually, after she sighs and scowls for a while.

"I went to Diagon Alley today," she explains, pacing back and forth. "With the first Muggle family. And it was like trying to calm spooked horses, no—worse! They could hardly walk, being surrounded by all that magic. I was sympathetic at first, but not even Cheering Charms would keep them moving for long.

Meanwhile, their son couldn't seem to contain himself, and we lost him three times! He let loose the rats at the Magical Menagerie, and later got in a tangle with a hag; he _actually_ asked if her face was really that ugly or if it was a costume."

"Perhaps you might leash the next one?" Snape suggests lightly. Hermion _growls_, and he wisely shuts up.

She goes back to sighing and frowning while Snape grabs something from the over-sized cooler.

Were her own parents that bad? Did she just not notice? It's a miracle they ever went back. That must be some indication of their feelings, that they'd subject themselves to that for her.

Suddenly Snape is handing her a bowl of pudding and a spoon.

"What's this?" she asks, frowning.

"Chocolate mousse," he says slowly, like she's an imbecile.

"I can see that," Hermione snaps, "But why are you giving it to me? One of the wait-staff should be in here soon, and I don't feel like being your courier right now."

"I'm given to understand that women frequently find comfort in chocolate when stressed," he says stiffly, and shoves the pudding into her hands.

Her temper softens. Well, it's perhaps a bit sexist, but unarguably thoughtful.

...And true enough. Especially since she doesn't often indulge.

"Thank you," Hermione says softly, and relishes the mousse's rich taste.

Snape just gives her a 'hmph' in reply.

* * *

And then one day Hermione is surprised to realize that Snape is her friend—just as much as Ginny, or Harry, or Ron is—much more than he is her former professor. It's ridiculous that he still calls her 'Miss Granger', and that she's too afraid to call him 'Severus'.

So she does something about it.

The pair's acknowledgment of their change in status to 'friends' goes a little something like this:

"I think I should call you Severus," she declares.

"Whatever you believe best," he says snidely.

"And you should call me Hermione."

"I can hardly suppress my anticipation."

And that's that.

They're on a first name basis from then on.

* * *

Severus is a bit quicker to realize that they're friends, though he's had very few of them and none quite like Hermione. She's become such a constant in his life, it would take significantly fewer brains than he possesses to fail to notice. Given that she's the only person he regularly interacts with, much less with anything approaching _friendliness_... It's no wonder at all that he's developed a certain... affection for her.

And really, their friendship makes a certain amount of sense. She seems to need constant reassurance that she's doing the Right Thing (or subtle guidance back to reality), and he finds that he... does occasionally yearn for a kind smile. It's simply quid quo pro.

Though just as he'd feared—when she's not intimidated, she almost never shuts up.

It _is_ a surprise, however, to realize that he's content. For the first time in his life, perhaps, and it's while working as a Muggle cook. Strange. His teenaged self would be howling.

But really, things seem close to ideal.

Now that he has some money, he can pay his bills, purchase plenty of food (though less than he once needed, now that he's nibbling on fish and chips every day at work), as well as potions ingredients and books. His job keeps him busy without being stressed, and there's no looming threat of torture and death on the horizon. Severus even has tolerable companionship.

Yes, he's content.

* * *

Hermione attempts to duplicate a Muggle pound and is rather startled when she can't. Severus catches her at it.

"Finally occurred to you, did it?" he says with a smirk, "You'll find it impossible. The goblins play a large role in the making of Muggle money; it can't be duplicated using any Wizarding means. Otherwise they wouldn't honor it as valid currency."

It makes sense, she acknowledges. Otherwise you could simply mass duplicate Muggle money and exchange it for galleons and such. Severus wouldn't have needed to get a job.

She wonders how he found out... and is sad that he could have ever been in a situation where it was a concern.

"That must be difficult to do without the Muggles knowing, though," she says.

"You'd be surprised. The goblins are incredibly devious. Honorary Slytherins, I'd even say," he says with a tone of admiration. She shakes her head with a smile.

* * *

On a particularly stifling, summer day, Severus finds the heat from the stove overpowering. He absentmindedly rolls up his sleeves and loosens the cravat around his neck. Then abruptly freezes.

For a moment he'd forgotten...

The shiny, puckered scars on his neck are now visible. The Dark Mark is black and ugly against the pale skin of his forearm, though to any Muggle it would seem just a simple tattoo.

She looks at him and keeps talking like nothing happened.

He leaves his sleeves rolled and his cravat loose.

* * *

Hermione finds herself admiring the curve of his arse as he bends to fetch something he'd dropped. She continues to look after he straightens, glad for the close fit of his trousers... and then she chides herself harshly.

God, she must be desperate. Next, she'll be describing his nose as 'regal' or similar rot.

* * *

Somehow she worms out his weakness for take-away curry, and begins to bring it with her for them to eat during his short break. She's surprisingly manipulative in doling it out, only allowing Severus to partake if he politely says 'please' and 'thank you,' or does whatever minor thing occurs to her at the moment. It's not mean-spirited, so he tolerates it.

* * *

Hermione doesn't know what's come over her. She's never been the teasing sort, and yet something in Snape's stoic bearing brings out the coquette in her. It's surprisingly exhilarating.

* * *

"Did you do something to your teeth?" Hermione asks curiously.

"Just now?"

"No, I mean, before I saw you at the Leaky Cauldron a couple months ago. I seem to remember them being... less straight."

He stiffens a bit.

"You may thank the Healers at St. Mungo's. Apparently they consider crooked teeth to be such a terrible health risk that it was necessary to fix mine while I was unconscious and unable to protest."

She attempts to hide her giggling by clearing her throat. The result is bizarre.

"Are you _laughing_?"

"I'm sorry, it's just funny to imagine..." She tries to change the subject. "Is that when they cut your hair?"

He glares at her for a moment before saying grudgingly,

"No, my hair was cut just after I arrived via Fawkes. Hair gets in the way and is easily replaced, so they feel no compunction about hacking it off. But I... kept it."

She studies his face while Severus resolutely ignores her.

"It suits you," she says finally.

"Which?"

"Both! I think you could go a little shorter though, with the hair, as long as you're going Muggle. And more evenly cut. I think it would look distinguished that way." God, did she really just say that? Hermione masks her mortification with Gryffindor-ish bluster.

Severus scowls at her fiercely.

"Shall I now make suggestions as to the best way to style _your_ hair?" he sneers as shuts the oven, "I would advise plenty of cement."

How rude! She grabs the nearest small object and hurls it at him.

"Ow! Damn it!" he curses. Hermione gasps. She can't believe she just hit him with a fork.

"I'm so sorry!" she cries sincerely, "It wasn't supposed to actually _hit_ you! Aren't you supposed to have some sort of superior spy reflexes or something?"

He stares at her incredulously.

"That's ridiculous." He rubs at his arm with a frown. "And if I'd known you were abusive, I would have never let you stay that first day."

She squirms guiltily. Severus continues rubbing and frowning at her.

"Oh, stop it. I didn't throw it that hard," she snaps.

A little later, however, she lets him have all of the curry in apology.

* * *

Within a couple days, his hair is cut in a shorter style that flatters his features—harsh though they are. She compliments him. He pretends he didn't hear her.

* * *

Hermione finds that as the days go on, her memories of Hogwarts start to fade and lose significance in her perceptions. Her life is now working at the Ministry (where her peers are of all ages), having lunch and dinner dates with old friends... and Severus.

He no longer seems inapproachable and removed from the rest of humanity. Her previous image of the caricature, Professor Snape, is long gone, though many of his mannerisms remain the same

Brilliant though he is, he's just a man. A man that was once a boy, and is as prone to irrational moods and sulks, mistakes, guilt, and embarrassment as any other.

...A brilliant man who happens to have a rather fit and attractive frame and interesting features, from her point of view.

* * *

Hermione is acting oddly. She's not _talking. _And yet she doesn't seem angry or upset. She just sits and looks at him with a thoughtful frown.

Severus decides to ignore her, until suddenly she's right next to him and leaning in.

Leaning _far_ too close. He turns to ask,

"What are-?"

Her lips brush briefly against his. Press, hold a bit, then pull away.

"What on earth possessed you to do that?" he says after a moment, feeling confused and unnerved.

She shrugs, seemingly unconcerned that she just kissed her former professor and now... friend.

"I don't know. Curiosity, I guess. An experiment," she says lightly.

He snorts.

"And? Did you conclude anything worthwhile?" he sneers.

Hermione shakes her head.

"You could use some lip balm, though," she says with a teasing smile, and returns to her place on the counter.

He watches her more carefully after that.

* * *

It was a terrible kiss. Short and perfunctory, he didn't participate at all. There were no tingles or magic sparks.

...And yet she finds herself wanting to do it again.

Shit.

* * *

The next day, Hermione is having lunch with Ginny at a cafe in Diagon Alley. She hasn't been talking much so Ginny knows something is bothering her, but the red-head doesn't pry. Hermione is thankful.

She and Ginny were never that close until that last year at Hogwarts after the war. They were then in the same classes, and at times it felt as if they were alone, together, against the rest of the world. They've been good friends, since, and she knows of Hermione's burgeoning friendship with Severus during the past couple of months.

Once Ginny is done talking about the latest in professional Quidditch, they eat for a time in silence.

"Ginny, do you trust me to know my own mind?" Hermione asks hesitantly.

"Of course!" The younger witch looks a bit confused.

"So if I said I may be in love, you'd believe me? Support me?"

"Who-?" Ginny frowns in thought, and Hermione gives her time. She watches as realization dawns, which gives way to a bit of horror, but then quickly concern and understanding.

"Are you sure?" Ginny asks quietly.

"Yeah, I think so." Once she considered it, it seemed indisputable.

"Wow."

"Yeah." Thinking about it is a bit daunting.

"Are you two-?" She seems reluctant to ask.

"No, I haven't really done anything about it." Aside from that brief kiss.

"I'm sorry? Congratulations? I'm not really sure what to say."

"It's alright. I just wanted to tell someone, I guess."

"Do you think he... you know?" Ginny asks, her face a little pinched.

Hermione shrugs, and her eyes get a bit watery.

"No... Maybe? How could I be certain? You know what he's like," she says.

"A bit," Ginny says, putting a comforting hand on top of Hermione's and looking at her with a great deal of sympathy. "So I know he must find you special, somehow, to let you get as close as you have."

Hermione gives her a wobbly smile.

"Yes, that's something, at least," she says quietly.

Ginny lets her sniffle a bit before cautiously saying,

"Um, I don't know if this is the perfect or worst timing, but Harry's done something a bit crazy, again..."

"Oh god," Hermione giggles and wipes at her eyes. "What has he done, now?"

* * *

**A/N:** I'm sorry if this chapter seems disjointed or rushed. I wanted to show their growing friendship/more as a series of moments and conversations. I hope you enjoyed it, reviews are appreciated. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Symbiosis**

**Chapter 4**

* * *

That afternoon, Severus is nervously anticipating Hermione's arrival as he fries chips. After her strange behavior yesterday, he isn't sure what to expect. More brooding? More... experiments? He decides he doesn't like being a lab rat, especially when unable to determine the motivations of the experimenter.

He doesn't expect, however, the exuberant smile he's greeted with when she enters the kitchen.

"Hello, Severus." Her grin doesn't falter one jot.

"Hermione," he acknowledges cautiously. Was she hit with a Cheering Charm? He didn't think anyone could look that happy, naturally.

"Guess what?" she asks, and _giggles_. Could it be a love potion?

"I'm not going to engage you in some juvenile guessing game." He frowns. She shrugs.

"I've got good ne-ews," she sing-songs. Maybe it's someone else under Polyjuice... but Severus can't imagine who or why.

"Have you possibly been drugged, recently?" he asks her seriously.

"What! No!" She looks a bit confused, before switching back to nauseatingly gleeful. "You're being offered a job!"

What?

"I have a job," Severus says slowly, "And I think I would be aware of any offers of employment."

She shakes her head, almost jittery in her excitement.

"Not this one," she says. "They're still working out the details before they send the owl. But I have it on good authority that they will soon."

An owl. A... wizarding job?

"And... are you going to explain to me what this job entails, or am I meant to wallow in anticipation and curiosity until they contact me?" he sneers.

"It's as a consult," she explains, "With the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Because of your, uh, expertise with Dark Arts and Potions and such. But they may even ask you to develop spells and potions for them! Doesn't it sound brilliant?"

Severus nods slowly. Yes, it sounds _brilliant_. It sounds far too good to be true, really.

How is it possible...? His eyes narrow.

"Potter," he spits out.

She nods, still smiling.

"Once he heard that you were—uh, looking for work, he apparently talked to his supervisor in training, who after a lot of nagging eventually talked to _his_ supervisor, and so on. Bureaucracy, you know. It's taken a long time and some diligence on Harry's part, but they've agreed!"

Yes, _brilliant_. Now he owes another Potter. Another debt.

He removes the chips from the fryer with bad temper and bangs the basket onto the counter. She notices his fury and slowly loses her grin to a frown of concern.

It just makes him angrier. He doesn't want to be the reason that she stops smiling.

"I suppose you'll want me to _thank_ him," he snarls. Hermione shakes her head.

"That would be _nice,_" she says reproachfully, "But that's not why he did it. Harry just wants to help you. I thought you'd be pleased."

He sighs, and the anger leaves him suddenly, replaced by weariness. Yes, Potter just wanted to help. The boy's better nature, which Severus refused to acknowledge for so long, is simply showing itself.

It's difficult, letting go of a grudge. But Severus knows he'd be a curmudgeonly fool to cling to it much longer. The boy may have his father's face, but he's not James.

Merlin, the man's been dead for far longer than he knew him, anyway.

"I am pleased," he admits quietly, "It sounds like an excellent opportunity."

Hermione smiles cautiously.

"Though I won't believe it until I see the letter," he grumbles, "Such an offer would suggest some shred of intelligence alive in the Ministry's leadership. Which I've never known to exist."

She laughs, and his lips quirk into the smallest of smiles.

* * *

About a week later, Hermione enters the kitchen with a bag of curry and sees a letter sitting conspicuously on her counter.

"Is that it?" she gasps with excitement.

"It's a fair assumption. The letter _is_ addressed to me from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and as I haven't done anything illegal lately..." Severus drawls with good humour.

"You didn't open it?" She's surprised, but sure enough when she picks it up Hermione finds the letter still sealed.

"I thought you ought to read it first. You _do _get such an... obscene pleasure out of delivering good news," he says with a smirk.

So thoughtful! She's not sure she would have had the patience to leave it unopened.

"You're sure?" she asks eagerly, already fingering the seal. He nods. She rips it open.

Severus watches her face while she reads. Clangs and sizzles can be heard in the background as small spells do his work for him.

"Oh," she says with a bit of disappointment.

"What?" he snaps. Apparently he's a little anxious, after all.

"It's just part time..." she begins, and then reads a little further down and gasps.

"Well?"

"That's a lot of money!" she says faintly and gives him the letter.

Severus skims it quickly and snorts.

"Not nearly as much as I ought to get," he says bitterly. "They could never get away with it if I weren't an ex-convict."

Hermione looks at him sympathetically.

"At least it's enough to live well on, right? Maybe they'll give you a raise once they see how brilliant you are. It says there's an opportunity for more work if you prove good at research and development," she attempts to console him.

He sighs and goes back to his cooking.

"I shan't hold my breath," he mutters. And then with a bit of a smirk, "Though I suppose I should give Martin notice, nonetheless. I'm sure he'll be devastated at my loss."

"No doubt," Hermione laughs. "I think your colleagues will be thrilled, though."

"There's always a silver lining," he says sarcastically.

* * *

Martin is, in fact, rather devastated. It's not often that you can receive the work of several employees for the price of one.

The Muggle attempts to change his mind with better pay, but Severus quite solemnly informs him that he's the government's man now, and he feels a patriotic duty to follow through.

The older man sighs and gives up. Severus smirks.

* * *

It's the last day that Severus will be working at 'Martin's Fish House,' and Hermione is a bit anxious. Which seems odd to Severus, as she seemed far more joyful and excited than he about his new job, originally. He must simply be rubbish at predicting her moods. Likely it has nothing to do with him, anyway.

He leaves her alone, expecting she'll say what's on her mind in her own time.

"Severus?" she says eventually.

"Hermione."

"May I still visit you? Once you start working for the Ministry?" she asks nervously.

"You're asking my permission?" Severus is a bit shocked. He would have thought she'd simply show up at his house on Monday afternoon, sure of herself and her welcome.

"I don't want to be a pest," she says seriously. He shakes his head with disbelief.

"If I found you a pest, I'd have sent you running from my presence months ago, cursed and in tears," he reassures her dryly.

She reluctantly smiles. "Shall I bring by biscuits on Monday, then?"

"As long as they're custard creams," he says with a smirk.

She nods, and he's relieved that the source of her anxiety is something so small.

* * *

Monday afternoon finds Severus pacing nervously in his sitting room. It's ridiculous. After getting back from his brief meeting with the Department Head, he'd spent hours trying to concentrate on reading to no success.

He shouldn't be nervous. He's seen and spoken with Hermione almost every day for months. Things won't be any different just because she's visiting him at his home.

But when he finally hears her knock, he's still pacing.

He walks quickly to the door and pauses only a moment before opening it.

"Hello, Sev-" Hermione begins with a smile, and then abruptly pauses and stares. "Er... Sorry, I'm just not used to seeing you in robes," she explains with a little laugh. She's wearing robes herself, but they're not too different than the dresses she usually transfigures them into.

Honestly though, he's not used to wearing robes anymore either. Severus resists the urge to brush at them self-consciously.

"If you're too intimidated, I can change," he snarks. She shakes her head, grinning.

"No, it's fine."

It takes him a second to realize he's left her still standing outside. Hastily he steps back and opens the door wider, sweeping an arm to gesture her in. She enters, and he closes the door before leading her to the sitting room.

"I brought the biscuits," she says, offering him the package.

"Custard creams?"

"Of course."

"Thank you," he says politely. It's somewhat of an instinct now when receiving food from her.

They stand awkwardly for a moment. Severus then abruptly turns and sits in the armchair, still holding the biscuits. Hermione follows his lead and takes the sofa.

"Did today go well?" she asks. He shrugs.

"Hopkins simply explained my duties. I'm to be on-call, and am encouraged to work on developing something of use when I'm not needed," he tells her. She nods.

There is a silence. He's not quite sure what to do with himself when he's not busy making meals. Should he offer her tea? Except he hasn't gotten any better at making it. And he doesn't have any alcohol.

Suddenly Hermione is smiling, and then laughing uproariously.

"I fail to see what is so amusing," he says icily once it seems she's somewhat calm.

"Maybe we should be in the kitchen," she says, still chuckling. "More comfortable?"

Ah. She had a similar thought, then.

He has to admit it might be easier...

"Perhaps I'll cook supper," he says wryly.

"I could even help, this time," she offers, grinning.

"We'll see."

They make their way to the small, cramped kitchen with its old-fashioned appliances. Severus sets the custard creams on the counter to snack on.

"I trust you haven't forgotten how to use a knife?" he asks with a raised eyebrow. She shakes her head.

They begin to prepare a beef and vegetable stew in comfortable silence.

As they're waiting for it to simmer, Hermione says, "I'm having dinner with Ginny and Harry on Thursday."

"Hmm," he acknowledges. Not an unusual occurrence.

"I was thinking... you might like to come?" she suggests nervously. "They'd like to congratulate you on your new job."

His instinctive reaction is an emphatic 'NO'. But Severus says nothing, respecting her request enough to think about it a while.

He never had anything against the girl-Weasley. She was bright and attentive, and mostly stayed out of trouble. Consuming a meal in her presence would be tolerable, he's sure. But Potter...

He hadn't seen Potter since his trial. The boy wasn't permitted to visit him in St. Mungo's, apparently, and so he used the very public court room as a forum to express just how thankful he is and how much he respects Snape and everything he did. He even waxed poetic over Snape's love and devotion for his mother at one point, and Severus was very hard-pressed to conceal his mortification.

Severus may have resolved to put aside his grudge, but Potter's simpering manner had left him ill at ease, and Severus is sure that sitting at a table with the boy would be just as uncomfortable or more so, and likely to put him off his food.

...And yet Severus owes him, now. Potter's testimony at the trial was required of him, and he was simply reciting the truth. But he didn't have to go to the trouble of securing Severus a job. The congenial thing to do would be to thank him in some way. Finally acknowledging his attempts at friendliness by joining him at a meal would give Severus the opportunity.

...But Severus has never been the congenial sort.

He gives Hermione a piercing stare. She looks back at him, anxious and entreating. He sighs.

"I've done things far more unpleasant in the past," he says finally. She smiles hopefully.

"Then you'll come?" she asks excitedly. He nods with a much put-upon expression.

"Brilliant! It'll be at my flat around seven," she grins. "Oh—but you don't know where that is..." She conjures a piece of parchment and pen and quickly scribbles the address.

He takes it, reads it, then pockets the scrap.

"Just don't expect me to make nice or feign enjoyment," he snarls.

"Oh, I'd never," she says, mock solemn.

* * *

Hermione is always second guessing herself now, wondering if she's doing something because he's her friend or because she loves him. Were he simply her friend, would she have just invited herself over, no questions asked? Would she have invited him to dinner, when she knows he can't stand Harry?

She worries that she's too obvious. And then she gets angry at herself because she's making things unnecessarily difficult and probably confusing Severus with her behavior. And that anger makes her more stressed.

It's all very frustrating, and she's not sure she can keep going on like this.

* * *

Tuesday evening is spent companionably in his sitting room. They manage to fall into the same light chatter they've grown accustomed to, even without the aid of a kitchen setting. It likely helps when Hermione deems it necessary to examine his books and comment about most all of them.

She finds one on diplomacy among centaurs that's of particular interest to her, and looks at him pleadingly. He nods his consent and watches with amusement as she takes to the sofa with a grin of anticipation. Hermione strokes the front lovingly before cracking the cover and diving in.

Meanwhile, Severus sits in his armchair and reads a Potions journal compiled of articles written almost solely by incompetent fools—he always gets his best ideas when criticizing others' stupid mistakes and contemplating how much better his own attempts would be.

As they read, he surprised to find how much more pleasant it can be to do something solitary, together. They don't exchange much more than a handful of words for several hours, and yet he feels the comfort of her presence keenly.

To know that if he had something particularly witty to say, something interesting to share, he need only lift his head and do so...

Merlin, he's getting maudlin.

He crafts a clever insult in his head toward the dunderhead that wrote the article he's currently reading, and feels much better.

* * *

Wednesday afternoon, he gets called into the Ministry. Someone apparently touched a cursed object on a raid; they're having trouble identifying the curse and lifting its effects. He sends her a Patronus at work to let her know not to drop by.

Hermione stares at the ephemeral doe sadly as it dissipates. Disappointed. At the message and the messenger.

She wonders briefly if she couldn't find him somewhere in the building or at St. Mungo's, but neither place is like a Muggle restaurant where they can intimidate the boss into letting her interrupt his work. He's likely very busy, anyway.

Hermione sighs. She _does _have quite a bit of paperwork to deal with herself. It doesn't need to be done before next week, but she's always enjoyed having things done early.

Neither she nor Severus get home until after dark.

* * *

Thursday after work, Hermione goes straight home and stays there. A first in a long time. But it would be silly to go visit Severus when he'll be coming by in only a few hours. Anyway, she has dinner to... prepare.

Honestly, she's not a very good cook, herself, and finds it much easier to just get take-away and put it in serving dishes as though it were homemade.

She gets curry. She tells herself that she does so because it's delicious and not because it's his favorite.

Hermione spends an absurd amount of time getting ready; cleaning her already clean flat, showering, struggling to style her hair, choosing the right clothes. She eventually settles with a simple plait and a nice, but not-too-formal Muggle dress.

At which point she has another thirty minutes to wait before they're expected. She sighs.

Crookshanks stands slowly from his place at the hearth and starts rubbing around her ankles, meowing. She picks him up and settles on the sofa.

"I'm sorry. I've been neglecting you terribly, haven't I?" she addresses the ginger creature. He purrs, seemingly in agreement.

Hermione summons a book and tries to concentrate on goblin customs in the fifteenth century, stroking a happy Crookshanks absentmindedly. She's finally succeeded for a few pages when a knock sounds. It's Severus at the door, she knows, because Harry and Ginny always come by Floo.

She stands quickly. Crookshanks jumps down with a hiss and retreats to her bedroom. Hermione sends her book back to its shelf, vanishes the cat hair on her dress and the cushion, and fusses with her hair.

She opens the door with a happy smile.

* * *

"Severus!" she greets him, looking exuberant.

"Hermione." The corners of his lips tug slightly upward to see her joy.

"Come in, please," she says, opening the door wider and gesturing inside. He does so, and proffers the bottle of wine in his hand.

"I believe it's customary to give the hostess something of the sort," he explains, stiffly because he's unsure of himself. Hermione takes it gratefully.

"Thank you, that's thoughtful. I'll just go put it in the kitchen."

Severus nods and waits in the sitting area while she does so, looking around curiously. It's a bit larger of an apartment than he would have thought, given her age and position at the Ministry as well as its location. It's decorated sparsely in neutral colors and with a few small personal effects. The largest wall is covered by an impressive bookshelf, already full. He approves.

"It took me a long time to find somewhere with a fireplace," Hermione says as she re-enters the room. "Sometimes it's just much more convenient to Floo."

"I'm not terribly fond of such travel, myself," he tells her. Severus doesn't like feeling dizzy or disoriented, and ash is especially noticeable on black clothing.

"Understandable," she hums, and sits on the sofa facing the fireplace. After he examines her books for a time, he joins her.

"Did everything get sorted out at the Ministry, yesterday?" Hermione asks. He nods.

"Yes, the dunderhead that was cursed will make a full... if slow, recovery, and the imbecile that owned the cursed object has been fined, accordingly." Hermione's lips twitch.

"Is the world filled entirely with imbeciles and dunderheads?" she asks him, amused.

"Absolutely," Severus says seriously. Hermione laughs.

"Present company excluded, of course," he amends gracefully with a smirk.

Suddenly the fireplace flashes with emerald flame and Ginny Weasley's voice can be heard calling,

"Hermione?"

"Come on through," Hermione says loudly, standing and leaning toward the fire. She then backs up as the red-head stumbles into the flat, the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice right behind.

Severus stands, frowning, and can feel his entire body tense with discomfort.

"Sorry we're a bit late, Harry just couldn't find his nice robes," Weasley says with an odd smile.

"It's no trouble," Hermione assures, giving them both friendly hugs in welcome. "Dinner's ready though, if you'd like to sit down." She gives Severus an encouraging glance and walks into the kitchen, likely to fetch the food.

Leaving Severus alone to face the couple.

"Miss Weasley. Potter," he says stiffly, struggling to keep his face neutral.

"Hello!" "It's good to see you, sir." they say almost in unison. Weasley regards him pleasantly while Potter stares at him with an insipid grin. Damn.

"How are you?" the girl asks.

"Adequate." He pauses and struggles. "I should like to... thank you, Potter. For making a nuisance of yourself at the Ministry on my behalf." It comes out sourly and accompanied by a sneer, but he said it. Potter looks as though he's just been given a new broom anyway, he's so pleased.

"I'm very glad I could help," Potter says.

Thankfully Hermione returns with their dinner in her hands and floating alongside her. She sets the dishes on the table and calls them over.

They all sit. Severus across from Weasley and beside Hermione. He sees the familiar curry dish and raises an eyebrow at her.

"I made the salad," Hermione says defensively.

"I said nothing," he responds neutrally. Weasley and Potter laugh.

"And I'm sure it's delicious," Potter offers kindly, and helps himself to a large portion of said salad. She seems appeased.

"Would you like some wine?" Hermione asks, pouring herself a glass. She addresses the couple, knowing better than to offer any to Severus despite him having brought it. The two nod.

Thankfully as the meal continues, Potter seems to become accustomed to his presence and loses the adoring attitude in favor of simple pleasure at the food and company.

Severus largely abstains from speaking.

And as the couple sits there in front of him, chatting about their lives and sharing small anecdotes, rumors they heard and challenges they're facing at work, as they exchange small smiles and touch each other on the hand or shoulder with familiarity but not to make a display of their relationship... it occurs to Severus that they've matured. Grown up, since the years he taught them.

Potter seems a man now, where previously he'd always been a boy. But then, Hermione was in the same year, of course... He looks at the three of them.

When did they grow up? It makes him feel old, having known them as children.

"Are you enjoying your new job, sir?" Potter addresses him, looking anxious for him to say yes.

"It would be difficult to make a judicial assessment based off a single day's experience," he says sarcastically. Potter looks disappointed, Weasley amused, and Hermione rolls her eyes.

"...But I believe the position will suit me," Severus finishes quietly. The boy... man seems pleased at this admission.

"I never did learn what you've been doing the last couple of months," Potter dares question then, albeit hesitantly.

Severus looks to Hermione, surprised. Really? She'd never said? In that case..

"Nor shall you. Suffice it to say I'm pleased to move on. It was particularly... malodorous," he says with a smirk. Hermione giggles. Potter and his girlfriend look confused but accepting of his answer.

"You'll be starting your new job soon too, won't you, Hermione?" Weasley asks. Severus is glad for the focus of the conversation to shift. Hermione nods.

"Just a little paperwork left to document everything, yes," she says happily.

"I bet your first day there you'll write a law to free House Elves," Potter teases.

"A few things need to happen before I could do that," she says, giving Severus a small smile. "And besides, I'll probably be doing grunt work for the first several years, at least, not proposing legislation."

Potter shakes his head.

"No, I'm sure you'll be right in the middle of things, if only because you'll put yourself there."

The two friends smile at each other fondly, even if Hermione looks a little exasperated.

"I'd like to propose a toast," Weasley says formally, with that same odd little grin as before. After a moment, Severus places it as the mischievous expression her twin brothers wore when they were Up To Something. He watches her warily and subtly sniffs at his drink. All seems well, there.

But she only raises her glass. The others at the table follow suit.

"To Hermione and Severus. To their new jobs, and future success. To..." she pauses. "Friendship. Congratulations."

They clink glasses and take a sip. And then they start on pudding.

"It's a shame Ron couldn't make it," Potter muses. The women make small sounds of seeming agreement even as they—for some reason Severus can't discern—look at Potter like he's being particular dim. "He and George are swamped right now," he explains to Severus, oblivious. "I'm sure you know how it gets in Diagon Alley just before term starts, sir."

Severus simply nods.

A little later, just as it seems they're all finished with pudding, Weasley says,

"I think we really should be going now."

She elbows Potter when it looks like he might protest. He subsides and stands alongside her, although he's clearly confused.

The four of them shift towards the fireplace.

"Thank you for the dinner, it was wonderful," Weasley says, giving Hermione a hug. Potter follows suit.

"I hope you'll consider calling us by our first names in the future, sir," she tells him then.

"I'll consider it," Severus replies, doubtful.

"It was great seeing you both," Potter manages to say before his girlfriend shoves him into the Floo.

"Bye, have fun!" Weasley says, giving Hermione that mischievous smile and two thumbs-up before dashing away into the emerald fire.

Hermione looks terribly embarrassed.

"Uh, tea?" she asks, and then retreats to kitchen before he can say yes.

Severus sits on the sofa, incredibly bemused, trying to puzzle out Weasley's bizarre behavior.

She didn't get up to any mischief, as far as he can tell, and yet that smile... When she toasted them, and when she left.

...Left especially early. Left the two of them alone with instructions to 'have fun'.

No. Could she really-?

He seems to have solved one conundrum, only to discover another.

* * *

**A/N: **I hope you enjoyed it. :) Just one chapter left, I'm pretty sure. (P.S. Happy Birthday shout out to our favorite character, Severus Snape!)


	5. Chapter 5

A bit short, but I hope it satisfies. :)

**

* * *

Symbiosis**

**Chapter 5**

* * *

Hermione takes her time in the kitchen, leaving Severus to contemplate Weasley's possible motives. But by the time Hermione is back with the tea, he can only determine that she's completely insane.

"I think your friend has aspirations as a matchmaker," Severus notes with amusement once they're settled on the sofa.

Hermione looks embarrassed again, and then drifts into a sort of melancholy that leaves him confused. Had he misinterpreted the situation? Had he said something wrong?

"Is the idea really that funny?" she asks finally.

"What?" Again, he feels lost.

"Could you never fancy me at all?" Her tone is entreating.

"You... say that like it might be desirable," he says slowly.

Hermione says nothing. Oh.

_Oh._

Damn. Severus has no idea how to feel about that. He's still not convinced he's right.

"So... you're saying that such a... fancy on my part... would be welcome?"

Her head slowly tilts down and up in the barest fraction of a nod while she sits staring into her teacup forlornly.

Severus attempts to digest that for a few moments. Does that mean this evening was meant to be some sort of... date? He ponders the ramifications.

...And is startled when he notices a few silent tears sliding down Hermione's cheeks. Shite. Not again.

"I'm afraid I don't know what to say," Severus begins nervously. "I must admit that I haven't previously thought of you in a... romantic light..."

He's distressed when her features twist alarmingly.

"But I can't swear that such feelings are... impossible," he quickly adds.

She finally looks at him then, but with annoyance.

"And I can't swear that Merlin himself won't someday rise from the grave and grant us all a wish or three," she snaps. "But that doesn't make it likely, and I'd appreciate it if you just let me down with a refusal and not give me false hopes."

"Well, I—You're a very attractive young woman-"

"So attractive you never even _thought_ about-" she mutters.

"Fucking shite, Hermione. What do you want me to say?" Severus says forcefully, suddenly feeling passionately angry in a way he hadn't been in years. "_Yes,_ I do think you're attractive and _no_ I never considered you as a prospect for romance. But it's _nothing_ to do with you. You're the best friend I've ever had, maybe my only true friend.

"It has everything to do with the fact that I'm Severus fucking _Snape_. I'm ugly and bad-tempered. I drove away my best friend in school, the girl I loved, and then got her killed. I spent years believing stupid shite about blood supremacy because I was jealous and picked on. I followed a fucking maniac and hung around his blood-thirsty disciples. I fucking _murdered_ and then spent months in _Azkaban. _I spent sixteen years locked up in a fucking school teaching imbeciles who hated me, surrounded by _my_ old teachers who—strangely enough—_hated_ me.

Who the fuck would want _me_?"

He finds himself standing, breathing erratic, his tea in a mess on the floor. Hermione stares up at him from the sofa with wide eyes, looking terrified out of her wits.

Severus attempts to calm himself with a few deep breaths and after a while continues hoarsely,

"So yes, your admission caught me by surprise. I've spent decades believing that no one could possibly ever like me, much less be interested in me romantically. It didn't take me long at all to stop looking altogether. I would never have dared _dream_-" he stops, choked, and sits back on the sofa abruptly, head in hands.

Hermione sets down her tea and places a hand on his back, delicately.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers, her face streaked with tears.

They sit that way in silence for several minutes.

Severus eventually sits up. His eyes are red, he's sure. He silently cleans the spilled tea.

"I am... hesitant to suggest that we risk our friendship," he says finally. "My last effort at romantic passion ended so tragically. But I must admit that, given the opportunity..."

His eyes catch and hold hers.

"I would be... honoured to explore whatever feelings we could possibly share." His gravelly voice is pitched with rare emotion.

Hermione smiles widely, still crying, and carefully takes one of his hands in her own. It occurs to him that he can count on one hand the number of times before this they've been close enough to touch.

"And you're sure that... well, you're really interested in _me?_" she asks nervously. He lifts an eyebrow.

"I'm not such a dunderhead that I would attach myself to someone uninteresting, no matter how desperate I may have just made myself sound," he says dryly. "And... I would be a fool not to adore you."

He feels himself retreat after this embarrassing admission, but she holds his hand tighter and shifts closer to him on the sofa.

"I'm very glad," she says softly, and brushes her lips gently over his.

It's a simple and unarousing act. But it's utterly perfect.

She leans into his chest and gets comfortable at his side. They sit that way for an untold amount of time, simply basking in the joyful experience.

Severus is sure he must be smiling like a moron but can't bring himself to care.

"I admit, for a while, I thought it was impossible that you could... I mean," Hermione whispers eventually. "Your Patronus is still a doe."

He nods, sobered. Of course she would have focused on that.

It's always with regret that Severus looks back on those moments of panic, lying near death in the Shrieking Shack, desperate to get the message to Potter somehow. He wishes frequently he'd exerted more control over _which_ memories he allowed to seep out of him. He'd never wished anyone to know of his old, pathetic infatuation, and now the whole bloody world does.

"Patroni are curious things. You can never really tell what emotions or experiences will affect their form. Lily was a good friend for quite a few years, and I'll always deeply regret her death. But I believe... it is her death that so heavily impacted my life and perspective. More so, I must admit, than even Lily herself did while alive. You need not worry that I'm still pining," he tells her honestly.

Hermione nods against his shoulder. "That makes sense... And I should like to think Partronuses truly represent us and our experiences, anyway, more than they reflect whomever we happen to fancy at the moment. It seems a bit... unhealthy? To lose yourself completely in that way."

"Indeed," Severus smirks. "No dramatic ideas about essential and self-sacrificial love?"

She looks up at him with a teasing smile.

"I'm too much the daughter of a feminist, I suppose," she says lightly. "No, I'd much rather believe that we're all capable of getting by independently, and that a relationship is beneficial rather than obligatory. A sort of facultative mutualism."

"I'm terribly hurt," Severus says sarcastically, teasing, "Are you saying you don't feel... a _need_?"

Tentatively, his free hand comes to rest lightly on her cheek.

"None at all," she denies, eyes sparkling. Her hands flutter around a bit uncertainly, before finding their way to his chest. Neither of them are entirely confident, it seems. "But I feel a wonderful _desire_..."

Her lips slant over his, and they get down to the rather serious business of snogging.

Severus admits he's still a bit stiff and unsure until one her hands lifts to tangle in his hair.

At which point he can feel himself simply _melt._

After a time he gathers the courage to place his hand on her back and stroke the expanse of skin left bare by her dress. Her breath hitches delightfully, and that _is_ wonderfully arousing.

He reluctantly pulls back and lightens his kiss until their lips are just barely touching, then just the barest distance apart.

For a moment they just _breath_.

"You _have—_I mean, you're not-" she begins, looking embarrassed. He rasps a little laugh.

"No, I'm not, and I have," Severus mocks, though it would be best not to elaborate on that front. They weren't the most dignified or pleasurable occasions. "But I'm finding it... a vastly different experience, when with someone I... care for," he says seriously.

Hermione nods and smiles softly.

"Alright." She molds herself to his side again, and they... _cuddle_. "There's time."

They don't budge from the sofa for hours. Eventually, however, Severus must reluctantly depart.

...After several minutes spent tangled pleasurably at the door, with promises to continue at a later date.

* * *

It's months later at a Christmas party Harry and Ginny are hosting at Grimmauld Place. Most of the old crowd is there, plus a few new additions. Colleagues, romantic partners, friends and children.

Hermione and Severus arrive together, fashionably late, and Ginny greets them at the door with a smile and takes their cloaks. Almost no one notes their entrance, too busy mingling, snacking, and having fun.

"I'm so glad you could make it," she tells them. It's a pleasant surprise, because she knows Severus hasn't seen many of these people since his trial or before, and the couple hasn't been all that open with their relationship. Which is understandable. The media can be brutal and old acquaintances, worse.

Ginny also knows that Hermione moved into his home on Spinner's End just recently, although they're thinking of buying something a little larger soon. Something with more room for bookshelves.

She chats with them a bit before she has to welcome the next arrivals, but she watches them carefully for most of the remainder of the party.

She had been very concerned, at first, when Hermione explained her feelings and then later revealed they were in a relationship.

...Although Ginny has to admit a certain smug satisfaction at learning she'd been the catalyst.

She was concerned mostly because it was Snape. An older man with a tragic past and an infamous unrequited love. Or should that be infamous past and tragic love? Either way suits, really.

He's always had a terrible temper, also.

So yes, Ginny was concerned. Not enough to interfere, or even prevent her from encouraging Hermione, whose judgment she trusts completely. But enough to wonder. Could he really have feelings for her, after Lily? Even if he did, did he know _how_ to be in a loving relationship? What if he's with her only because she's the first one to show him real friendship? Could she really be happy with him?

All of these worries faded completely with time.

They're not really demonstrative, but even those observers unaware of their relationship can see _something_, and are watching them with a bit of wary confusion. The couple effortlessly ignores the strange looks. Or maybe they don't notice.

And to those who _are_ aware... Harry got over the shock quickly enough and is thrilled for the both of them. While most others, Ron included, don't understand at all, but know Hermione too well to try to object.

But as Ginny watches them now, she does understand. She can see that the relationship is good for Hermione. Good for _them_.

Hermione's calm. Light-hearted, teasing even. A much different woman than the—she hesitates to say—almost shrewish harpy she sometimes seemed when in a relationship with Ron. Now she seems at peace, with herself and with him.

If Hermione is annoyed or starts to worry and dwell on something, a sharp comment from Severus and she'll relax with a laugh instead of escalating into a tizzy.

And likewise, if he's feeling uncomfortable and retreats into the corner or another room in a bad mood, she'll touch his arm with a gentle smile and slowly lure him back to humanity.

They're very different people... she's eager and idealistic, wants to march ahead and change the whole world; he's reserved and observant, content to be a commentator making small contributions. But they compliment each other in a way Ginny never could have imagined. They're both better people for it.

She's happy for them. Their adoration is entirely mutual, and their relationship clearly benefits them both. Sort of like... oh, what did Professor Sprout call it? Like with gillyweed and that one little fish... 'sym' something. Symbiosis? Herbology was never her best subject.

Ginny decides to find Neville and ask him, content to leave Hermione and Severus to their subtle glances and secret smiles.

* * *

**END.**

* * *

**A/N:** I'm very happy to have completed a multi-chapter fic for the first time, short though it is. I really hope you enjoyed it, and I welcome any criticism.

I went into this without a whole lot of forethought, hoping to simply illustrate how a romantic relationship between Hermione and Snape might come about. So that's what I focused on, maybe to the exclusion of developing a fully fleshed reality and characters. If/when I write more in the future, I'll try to improve that as well as my use of capital letters and punctuation... I never know where to put the buggers. :D

But given that I conceptualized and wrote this in not much more than a week (admittedly filled with little else), I'm fairly pleased. Thank you for joining me, and a huge thank you to everyone that took the time to leave a review. I really appreciate everyone's comments.


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